


Stiles Is So A Food Group

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cooking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If they can teach you not to burn water, it’s worth it.” Laura laughed. “Or to tell the difference between salt and sugar. You’re going to thank me so much for this.” Or Derek's family gets him cooking lessons from Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles Is So A Food Group

**Author's Note:**

> Blame comedicdrama. Just. Yes. Thanks for all your help, sweetie.

There was a card in amongst his birthday presents and Derek opened it last. He was hoping for book vouchers or maybe even a certificate to get his car detailed. Instead there was a flyer. The card showed a fire extinguisher and Derek rolled his eyes at it.

“What’s this?” Laura and his mother wore identical grins.

“Well. They do say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” Laura snatched the flyer out of his hand and read from it. “Guaranteed to turn your kitchen nightmare into a dream.”

“It’s a new cookery school,” his mother interrupted. “And much as I don’t mind you coming round here for meals, it’s about time you learned to do more than order pizza.” 

Derek snagged the flyer back and read it again. “A private lesson? Really?”

“If they can teach you not to burn water, it’s worth it.” Laura laughed. “Or to tell the difference between salt and sugar. You’re going to thank me so much for this.”

Derek really had nothing to say to that. His cooking skills were legendary in the family. Or, more accurately, his lack of them.

 

Beacon Hills wasn’t exactly a big city and Derek wasn’t sure why it, of all places, was the location of a cookery school. He’d driven past the empty storefront so often that he hadn’t even really noticed that someone had moved in. He leaned against his parked car and watched the shop through the plate glass window. There were white tables with knifes and chopping boards and aprons all neatly arranged but no sign of any people.

Finally a guy strolled through from the back. He was dressed in a white top and those baggy chef’s trousers. Derek couldn’t tell from this distance but he had a feeling that they were black and yellow because they were covered in Bat Signals. At least the guy wasn’t wearing a hat. Instead he had the sort of hair that begged for someone to tug their fingers through…

Derek was sexually objectifying the guy in the cookery school. He so needed to get laid.

Giving up on his not so stealthy surveillance, Derek pushed off his car and strolled across the street. The door opened silently – no jaunty bell – and he was almost all the way inside before the guy whipped around and raised an honest-to-god rolling pin. “Warn a guy,” he said, breathing hard.

Derek didn’t know how to deal with the rolling pin or the fact that the guy was way too young for him to be thinking the thoughts he’d been thinking earlier. “I’m here for a lesson.”

“Hale? I thought it would be Mrs. Hale.” The guy looked guiltily at the rolling pin and stuck it back onto the display. “Mr. Hale?”

“Derek.” Derek didn’t offer his hand to shake. “I’m not much of a cook. I was bought this as a birthday present and I just want to get it over and done with so my family will get off my back.” He couldn’t help letting some of his bitterness spill out. So what if he still ate like a college student? It wasn’t like he was going to have problems with cholesterol or diabetes. The worst he was going to get was fur stuck in his teeth.

“O-kay.” The guy drew out the word. “Well. What’s your definition of ‘not much of a cook’? Give me a starting point.”

“You’re going to teach me to cook?” Forget eating like a college student. This guy looked like he still was one and his incessant fidgeting did nothing to convince Derek otherwise.

“Hey! I can take you through to the office and show you my certificates.” The guy raked his eyes over Derek and a flush started high on his cheeks.

“I’d maybe learn your name then,” Derek retorted.

“Fu-u-dge.” The guy looked back at Derek. “Fuck it. I’m Stiles.” Derek just raised his eyebrow and looked around the near empty space. “And you’re going to learn how to cook. And I’m going to teach you.” Stiles turned his back and muttered to himself. Of course Derek heard him clearly. “And maybe you’ll stop with the serial killer look and break a smile. And then I will have to jump your bones.”

Derek sneered. “Look. Maybe there’s a manager I can talk to? I don’t want my mom to have wasted her money.”

“There’s a manager – of the shop. But I’m the owner. Look, dude – “ Stiles spun around and waved his hands around even more frantically. 

“Don’t call me dude.” It was an automatic, kneejerk reaction. 

“Okay. Right. Sorry.” Stiles looked chastised for a moment. “One lesson. C’mon. If I don’t entirely piss you off, it’ll be worth it.” Stiles bit his bottom lip as he pleaded with his eyes. His honey colored eyes. Framed with really long lashes. Which were just at Derek’s own eye-line. That was why he was gazing at them.

“Unless you’re some kind of miracle worker, it’s not going to do any good.” Derek shrugged. “They gave me this in a card with a fire extinguisher on it. Because the last time I tried to cook a meal, they needed to call the fire department.”

Stiles gaped at him, opening and closing his mouth a few times. And Derek’s imagination kicked into overdrive. He could barely stand this kid and here he was having very vivid fantasies about where that mouth could go. This was a bad idea. Derek turned to head out.

“You cannot just lay that challenge at my feet and walk out, all hair and leather jacket and tight jeans.” Stiles had wriggled his way in front of Derek and was pushing at him. Of course it had no impact on Derek. He could feel the warmth of Stiles’s palms through his t-shirt though. And Stiles’s scent filled his nose, overtook his senses. He smelled like sugar and cinnamon and fresh air and something Derek was having trouble defining. Maybe it was his cologne. Maybe it was just because Stiles spent all his time in a kitchen. But Derek found himself leaning forward, desperate to drink in more.

Stiles had finally stopped talking and was just leaning against Derek, absently rubbing his palms in small circles, his thumbs brushing Derek’s nipples. Derek was the one to pull away. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Stiles took a long moment to lower his hands. His eyes also seemed pretty fixed at Derek’s neckline. “Wait. You will?”

“Yeah.” Derek turned around, looking around the store. “What do I do?”

Stiles snagged his sleeve and drew him towards the door he’d popped through. “Through here. We have this whole kitchen set up.” He kept talking as he led Derek though to a bright, light airy kitchen, painted white with stainless steel everywhere. Stiles ran his hands over one of the surfaces. “So. What’s your level?” He tapped his fingers nervously on the steel, sounding like rain pounding on the roof of Derek’s car.

Derek just looked at him. His level for what?

“Cooking. What can you do?” Stiles rolled his eyes like it should be self-explanatory but there was no thread of anger or exasperation in his scent. Instead he leaned forward over the counter, coming closer again. Derek liked that. People tended to back away when he went non-verbal and, well, glared. Stiles was the opposite. He was intrigued.

“Nothing.” Derek shrugged. “I can’t even really boil water.”

Stiles’s mouth dropped open, wet and slick, before he snapped it shut again. “Okay. I can work with that. We can do knife skills. Salad?”

“I don’t really eat… salad.” Derek felt his mouth tilt up in half a smile. It would probably freak Stiles out if he admitted to the amount of red meat he generally consumed. Sometimes raw.

Stiles’s shocked open mouth reappeared again. “You cannot be telling the truth. Someone who looks like you do must have some kind of regimen. There must be vegetables in there somewhere.”

“Sometimes,” Derek teased. Stiles stomped away to a crisper cabinet, murmuring under his breath again. He pulled out some bags of green, some stalks and then, leaving Derek to marvel at him, headed to the knife rack and pulled out something that a hunter would be more comfortable carrying than a chef. Derek also tried to parse out exactly what it was keeping him here. Stiles glanced over his shoulder and Derek found himself tracing the path between the moles on Stiles’s cheek, letting his eyes roam down his long neck, snag on the neck of Stiles’s top and wish he could just pop those buttons.

Derek realized he was staring when Stiles started to color. 

“Okay. So, what’s the first step?” Stiles had to swallow a few times before he spoke but he got it out clearly enough. 

“Umm.” Derek cast around. “Get a knife?”

“Washing. Wash your hands, wash your veggies.” Stiles actually raised a finger and waggled it. “Also, if you’re me, you tend to put on an apron if you’re wearing civvies.” Derek shrugged and followed Stiles to the sink, catching the folded apron out of midair when Stiles threw it at him. Derek had no problems in wearing an apron – he wasn’t going to need it – but it made Stiles happier when he shrugged it over his head and tied the ties behind his back.

There was music playing from somewhere, soft and bland and Stiles occasionally hummed along as if he wasn’t really hearing it. But apart from that, the only noise in the kitchen was the pair of them. Derek tuned out the street outside and let Stiles’s voice wash over him as he took him through the basics of vegetable prep. He laid on the praise a bit heavily and Derek snarked back, which made Stiles grin. 

“You’re just not holding the knife right,” Stiles said, after watching Derek work on a carrot. It did look a little mangled next to Stiles’s neat cubes. “Let me help.”

Stiles stepped close, a little too close, and brought his arm around Derek. He was a firm line of heat against Derek’s back as Stiles adjusted his hold on the knife, guiding Derek’s cutting action. That scent, overwhelming and tantalizing, seemed to engulf Derek again. Between the heat and the scent, Derek was suddenly really glad he’d shrugged on the apron. His cock thickened and his jeans were still on the tight side. With how close Stiles was standing, there was no way he’d miss it. It was taking all of Derek’s strength not to lean into Stiles, to press himself against him.

Stiles dropped Derek’s hand like he’d brushed against a hot stove. “Yes. Like that.” Then he dashed over to the far side of the kitchen to the crisper again, leaving Derek to focus all his frustration on the innocent chopping board.

Derek’s pulse started to climb as Stiles came close again, snagging a piece of unchopped carrot and pressing it to Derek’s lips. “You have to taste as you go along, you know.” Derek opened his mouth to take the carrot and tried not to let his lips linger on Stiles’s fingertips. He didn’t have the presence of mind to copy Stiles as Stiles snagged a couple of carrot sticks himself.

“Okay. I think you can handle the veggie prep. You want to try putting together a dressing?” Stiles pointed to a rather bewildering array of bottles and tubs on the tray he’d brought over. He didn’t wait for a response but handed Derek a small metal implement that was either some kind of torture instrument or something he was supposed to mix with. “You use a whisk. Like that.”

“Whisks are usually-“ Derek waved his hands in the air trying to describe the round wire thing he’d seen his mom use. “More round?” he ended up explaining.

“Some are. Yes! You have identified a kitchen utensil. You deserve a gold star!” Stiles’s eyes twinkled as he verbosely applauded Derek’s pitiable effort. “This is also a whisk. That one is a balloon whisk and you can use it too. This one is better for dressing though.” And again Derek’s mind went back to the torture instrument. The teasing instrument. Stiles’s pale skin would go pink and then red as he ran it… Derek shut down that train of thought in a hurry. “What flavors do you like best?”

“Sugar and cinnamon and fresh cut lemon.” The words were out of Derek’s mouth before he’d even really thought them through.

“Okay. Sweet tooth.” Stiles pulled a couple of bottles out of the mass. “But not too heavy. We’ll stick with a straight vinaigrette.” Stiles took Derek through measuring and pouring and seasoning and whisking. He stood right by Derek’s elbow through the whole thing and just let his words lead Derek through the simple motions. It felt ridiculous that Derek was taking so much satisfaction in putting together a salad. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t this and it certainly wasn’t Stiles.

“There. That’s enough. Now use a spoon to drizzle it – not too much – yeah.” Stiles handed Derek a fork and gestured at the brightly colored bowl. “Now taste, remember. Taste everything.”

Derek dug his fork in and grabbed some leaves. Stiles did the same, which was reassuring at least, and they chewed in silence. It was nice. It was a salad.

“This makes an awesome accompaniment to steak. Or burgers. Or pasta. It’s simple and yet your wife should be very impressed.” Stiles stuffed another mouthful of greens in his mouth and chewed.

“My…wife?” Derek set his fork down, his stomach churning.

“Yeah. Mrs. Hale? Who bought you…” Stiles chewed nervously on his bottom lip.

“My mother. Or my sister.” Derek kept his eyes on Stiles, watching the signs of his thought process, every twitch, every hitch in his breathing, every single beat of his heart.

Stiles exhaled explosively. “Oh thank god. I was really really worried about all the eye-fucking.” He smiled, widely. “Just checking. Really single?”

Derek nodded, curtly. He wasn’t quite sure what was happening here.

“And please be gay. Or bi. And please don’t be –“ Derek leaned forward and finally, finally, took what he’d been wanting all along. Stiles tasted even better than he smelled, all fresh flavors and fine cuisine. The vinegar from the dressing was sharp on his mouth but that vanished as Derek crowded him back against the stainless steel. Under his hands, Stiles’s felt hot even through his clothes. The thought of getting his hands on Stiles’s skin made Derek moan into the kiss.

Stiles was breathing heavily when Derek reluctantly pulled back. “My family knows. My work knows. I don’t think it’s anyone else’s business.” He gave into the urge to run his nose along Stiles’s cheek, tracing the path of the moles that had so fascinated him earlier. Stiles’s hands grabbed at his hips, dug in.

This time it was Stiles who made the first move, leaning forward and fitting his mouth to Derek’s, lips already parted. Derek didn’t even think about anything, opening his mouth to Stiles’s demands. He gave in to his own urge and slide his hands under the white chef’s overall Stiles was wearing, finally reaching skin. It was smooth and cool under his burning hands, felt like silk and like home. Stiles seemed to take that as permission, rocked forward and tried to work one of his legs between Derek’s thighs.

He’d forgotten the apron.

Derek huffed a laugh into the kiss at Stiles’s whine of frustration. He could smell the heady whirl of Stiles’s want, a rich, caramel scent that he wanted to swallow down and keep. “We should do this properly. Go to dinner. Talk about something that isn’t how I can’t cook.”

Stiles made a disappointed noise and tried to pull Derek in again. “No. We should make out more.”

Derek pressed a quick kiss to Stiles’s mouth. “I don’t think it’s hygienic.”

“It’s my kitchen,” Stiles muttered, rolling his hips against Derek’s. Even through their clothing, through the blasted apron, Derek could feel Stiles’s hard cock.

“But we have this nice salad all ready.” Derek reluctantly slid his hands out from under Stiles’s clothes. It almost physically hurt to step back. But he was determined that this was going to be done right. He wasn’t going to fuck Stiles in his Batman pants. He was going to have him stretched out on his bed, completely bare and begging and strung out. Derek wanted to find out how far that blush spread, how many moles were scattered over Stiles’s skin. He wanted to seek out spots that made Stiles squirm and others that made him howl.

He wanted to know if Stiles wore Batman because he liked the pattern or if he liked, you know, Batman. And comics. And films. And what his favorite sport was. And whether he liked country. That probably wasn’t a deal breaker but the banjos just rubbed his ears the wrong way. He wanted Stiles to meet Laura properly and school her about chili.

Derek realized he was basically just standing in the middle of the room staring at Stiles and Stiles was just staring right back.

“Dinner? When are you done here?” Derek pulled off the apron for something to do with his hands.

“I’m the boss. I can be done now?” Stiles was chewing on his lip again and Derek had to fight down the urge to sooth it with his fingertip, with his mouth. “Also, I have these amazing steaks that this salad would just be perfect for.”

“Your place or mine?” 

 

Stiles’s sheets were a rumpled mess when Derek pulled back. He hummed in satisfaction at the hickey that was purpling nicely on Stiles’s hip. Stiles’s eyes were glassy and his chest (also sporting a few red marks from Derek’s mouth) was heaving. His cock rubbed against Derek’s, slick and hot and wet, as Derek ground his hips down.

“Fuck, Derek. C’mon!” Stiles was pretty when he begged. He widened his legs even more, all inhibitions gone. Not that he had many to begin with.

Derek lowered himself down and kissed Stiles, wide mouthed and filthy, fucking his tongue in. He wanted to do everything at once but Stiles’s hips were already rolling irresistibly. “Your place, your lube.” Derek supposed he deserved it when the tube smacked him in the temple. He was busy worrying at Stiles’s neck at the time.

Opening Stiles up was an exercise in patience Derek was fast running out of. The sight of Stiles, head tossed back, back arched, was enough to make Derek want to break down and just come untouched. He pressed the heel of his hand to his own cock to stave off the feeling.

“Hurry up, asshole.” Stiles tried to pull Derek closer by hooking his foot around Derek’s side and tugging. Derek ran his free hand up the inside of Stiles’s thigh, tracing the fine hair, the soft skin. He liked the noise Stiles let out. Stiles’s foot kicked into his back.

Pressing in, slow and steady, almost holding his breath. Stiles wasn’t holding his breath. Instead a stream of profanity-laden encouragement slipped from his lips, half unconsciously. Derek leaned forward to stop the melodious litany with another kiss that was more their mouths panting against each other. If he had to listen to Stiles speak, he was going to lose control, lose every bit of restraint he had left. He was drowning in Stiles’s caramel scent.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s head and forced him to look at him. “Fuck. Me. Now.” Derek couldn’t very well disobey such a clear instruction. He rested his forehead against Stiles’s and gave into the urge to thrust. Fumbling a hand around Stiles’s cock was easier once he leaned back, changed angles. It also seemed to work for Stiles who stopped speaking altogether and just let his mouth hand open. A strangled moan fought its way out of Stiles when he came, without warning, and Derek followed close behind, unable to hold back any longer. 

Stiles curled into him, unwilling to move or let go. He petted his hands through Derek’s hair, teasing it into wild shapes, fingertips rubbing Derek’s scalp. He wanted to purr almost. “Next time you’re going to cook for me.”

Derek’s heart pounded faster at the thought of next time. “Yeah. You sure you’re okay with burnt toast?”

“Gonna need more lessons?” Stiles didn’t stop moving his hands and Derek decided he wasn’t going to act like a dick.

“Lots. Could take up a lot of your time.” He huffed out a sigh. “You’re going to have to find out all my weaknesses.”

Stiles used his fingertips to gently tip Derek’s face up to look at him. “I like the sound of that.” Awkward though the angle was, Stiles still made sure to kiss as deeply as he could. Derek liked the idea of more of that too. 

He was definitely going to owe his mom and Laura flowers as well.


End file.
